


Safe

by scifiangel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiangel/pseuds/scifiangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John confronts Sherlock about faking his death and gives Holmes a shocking revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me in a dream and my muse wouldn't let me rest till I finished it. I hope you enjoy it.

**Title:** _Safe_  
 **Author:** Scifiangel  
 **Beta:** [](http://jer832.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://jer832.livejournal.com/)**jer832**  
 **Series:** Sherlock by the BBC  
 **Pairing:** Sherlock Holmes/John Watson (Can be seen as deep friendship.)  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Warnings and Spoilers:** Frank talk of past attempted suicide. Spoilers for BBC series "Sherlock" season 2 and season 3, episode 1.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own our lovely boys. They belong to the BBC. I make no money from this, much to my sorrow. Full disclaimer under cut.

 **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and images either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. This is a work of parody, as defined by the Fair Use Doctrine. Any similarities, without satirical intent, to copyrighted characters, or individuals living or dead, are purely coincidental. This work has not been endorsed by Russell T Davies, Steve Moffet, the BBC, or any of the others holding copyrights or licensed images, books, or movies. No connection is implied or should be inferred. This is not a commercial work. The authors receive no financial gain from its production or distribution. It is available without charge. This work is intended for adults only. Some of the content of this work is graphically violent and/or sexual. It is intended for viewers age eighteen or over and anyone underage is prohibited from viewing. Distribution is limited. The distribution of this is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the artist/author.

 

_Safe_

 

John Watson lay in his bed wide awake. Mary, his soon-to-be fiancé, was sleeping soundly next to him, her soft breathing the only sound in the room. John's mind whirled with all that had happened that night and all that Sherlock had told him.

Sherlock was alive. For two years John had grieved for the man. Two years of hell and heartache and just when he had started to move on… Sherlock was alive.

He felt so angry, so betrayed to think that he meant so little to " _The Great Detective_ " that the bastard had trusted twenty-five homeless people with his secret more than Sherlock could trust him. Somewhere between the busted lip and the bloody nose John had given him, Sherlock had told John that he had to fake his death in order to keep John safe from Moriarty's men.

"Safe… right," John whispered under his breath. The irony of that made him want to laugh, but it was so very far from funny. _'He needs to know what he put me through.'_ John thought as he quietly slipped out of bed and got dressed.

John texted Mycroft asking where Sherlock was and was mildly surprised when Sherlock's brother had texted back the answer almost immediately. He still had a key to 221B so he could just let himself in. He wrote a note to Mary telling her he had gone to have it out with Sherlock and placed it on his pillow, and then he reached into his nightstand. He pulled out the heavy object that had been his confessor on many of those lonely desperate nights after… He wrapped it in a handkerchief, stuffed it in his jacket pocket, and headed for the door.

********

Sherlock stood at the window of his flat with a bag of ice on his nose staring out at Baker Street. It seemed strange to be back after so long, especially without John being there with him.

He looked over at John's empty chair as if looking at it would make the man appear. Sherlock couldn't count how many times in the last two years he had been away that he had imagined sitting across from John as they sipped tea and the doctor perused the newspaper for a case.

Many nights when Sherlock was in hiding he had imagined different case scenarios for them to solve. John would say something so simple that would lead the detective to the answer. He would imagine John smiling at him once he had explained his deductions.

Sherlock had imagined thousands of things he might say or do to get John to smile at him. He craved John's smile. It made Sherlock's chest feel warm and caused an odd fluttering in his stomach. No one else had ever made him feel like that.

 _Feel!_ That was what made John different. John made him feel. Sometimes what he felt he didn't even have words for, didn't really understand. He was used to being in control, a man of pure logic and these feelings frightened him a bit.

So many times in the last two years he had picked up the phone wanting to call John and let him know he was alive. He so wanted to hear John's voice, but he stopped himself each time. John was too emotional. If he let something slip about the detective still being alive and the wrong person heard it they would kill John. That was unacceptable. Nothing was worth that risk.

Now John seemed to hate him for not telling him and that made Sherlock's chest hurt far worse than his swollen nose and busted lip.

Sherlock's brother, Mycroft had always told him, "Don't get involved, Sherlock. It only brings you pain." Now he knew what Mycroft meant. He also knew it was too late, he was already involved. Not that he would ever admit that to his brother.

Sherlock was hoping Mary would be successful in _talking John around_ as she had put it, because the idea of never seeing John again was too painful to contemplate. So when Sherlock saw a taxi pull up to his door and John get out he had a huge smile on his face.

"Mary must be very persuasive." Sherlock whispered. He threw the bag of ice onto the desk, quickly crossed the room, and slumped down in his chair as if he'd been there all evening.

He heard John knock on the door, but didn't have time to answer before the doctor had opened it and walked through.

Sherlock stood up as he saw the anger on John's face. He quickly crossed the room meeting John half way. Whatever Sherlock was expecting it wasn't a test of his detective skills.

"I know you don't understand why I'm so angry with you, Sherlock, but you **need** to understand," John said softly, but with his jaw clinched. John reached into his pocket and pulled out an object wrapped in a handkerchief. Sherlock reached out to take the object, but John didn't let go of it yet. "You said you faked your death to keep me safe. I want you to look at this and tell me if I was safe." With that John shoved the object into Sherlock's hands.

As soon as Sherlock held the object he knew it was John's old service revolver. He opened the handkerchief and examined the gun. The first thing he noticed was that there was only one bullet in the gun and it was in the chamber. The gun's grip had a thin crust of salt left from being held many times by sweaty palms without being cleaned. The trigger was shinny on the front side from a trigger finger repeatedly rubbing up and down nervously. The most telling was the multiple layers of dried saliva coating the end of the gun's barrel.

The clues told a clear and terrifying story. John Watson had had the gun in his mouth ready to kill himself many times. He looked wide-eyed into the face of his best friend and swallowed down the unusual taste of fear-tainted bile.

"John, I…," Sherlock started, but John cut him off as if he had never spoken.

"For the first year or so I just knew it was a trick. You had to have had a good reason for faking it." John swallowed hard and wiped at the moisture that started filling his eyes. "But then I thought, _'No, Sherlock would never let me hurt this much for this long._ ' God, how wrong I was." John shook his head, but refused to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"I'm sor…," Sherlock tried again, and again John cut him off.

"I don't even know how many nights I sat with that gun in my mouth thinking, _'all I have to do is pull the trigger and the pain will stop. Sherlock thought it was the right thing to do so why not?'_ , but I could never do that to my family, my friends." John looked up at Holmes with angry eyes. "I would never want to put them through the Hell you put me through."

"I didn't know, John."

"Then I met Mary," John had a wistful look on his face that soon turned angry again as he wiped away more tears. "She saved me. I'm the most important person in the world to her, far more important than twenty-five homeless people." John's last words were spat at Sherlock.

"John, please. It wasn't like that." Sherlock begged, desperate to get John to listen.

But the doctor was having none of it. "Go ahead and keep the gun," he said as he turned around and headed for the door. "I don't need it anymore. I have Mary."

"Please, wait." Holmes pleaded. "Don't leave."

"Why not? You did." John asked as he opened the door and stepped through. "Don't bother calling me. There's nothing left to say." John shut the door hard behind him, leaving Sherlock shaken and alone.

*********

John walked slowly down the stairs feeling raw. He knew he couldn't stay away from Sherlock forever. He would forgive Holmes eventually, but he wanted the thoughtless man to feel at least a little bit of the pain John had felt. As he reached the bottom of the staircase, a gun shot rang out followed immediately by the sound of a body and a gun hitting the floor.

John stopped dead for a moment, his heart pounding as fear gripped him. "Sherlock," John whispered as he forced his legs to move. He raced up the stairs and slammed open the door.

He saw Sherlock lying motionless on the floor in the fetal position, the gun lying beside him. The doctor quickly knelt down beside his friend before he realized there was no blood. That's when he noticed the broken glass scattered across the floor. John looked up and saw that Sherlock had shot the mirror.

"I didn't know, John," Sherlock mumbled as he began to rock himself back and forth on the floor. "I didn't know you cared that much. I didn't think anyone would care that much about me, especially not someone like you. Please, John, forgive me. Don't leave me."

John's heart ached at the tears in Sherlock's eyes and the look of pain on his face. He had never seen his friend so emotional, never seen him cry. He pulled Holmes into his arms. He laid Sherlock's head on his shoulder and rubbed his friend's back. The Great Detective clung to him like a frightened child. "It's alright." John whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. You're safe now."

~fin

 

**Drop me a note and let me know if you liked it.**


End file.
